The stalking of Santana Lopez
by neverhappy10
Summary: Self-explanatory title. As out of character as it is AU, which is to say, VERY. G!P
1. Chapter 1

"Nevermind, I'll find someone like youuuuuuuu. I wish nothing but the best for you, tooo. Don't forget mee, I beg, I remember, you said..."

I sing along to Adele playing on the stereo, hoping that somehow, praying to God or Buddha or whatever cosmic force that would listen, that she would hear it. For the whole entire year, I've accumulated all my wishes, all the 11:11's, I just need this one to come true. God, her eyes, they break my heart every single time, it's like they stare into my soul. I reach out, but as per usual, she's not there. I'll never find someone like her. I love her. I'm in love with her. I have been ever since I was 15 years old. Every interview she's done, every photoshoot, magazine cover, every single she's released, every CD signing, every movie, every guest star appearance on TV shows. My walls are covered with posters, I have every album, I go to sleep dreaming about her every night and wake up every morning with her gorgeous smile on my mind. She's perfection.

"Hey come on Brit, dinner's ready." My girlfriend, Emily, calls out from the kitchen. I sigh, because she'll never be Santana Lopez, especially considering she's got an English accent, bright red hair and an odd obsession with jean shorts? Something about Deja Vu? Good thing I happen to have a black wig…

"Smells awesome," I tell her with a smile. Oh yeah, she's also a great cook, so that's totally an added bonus, "What you making?"

She grins back, "Your favorite, breakfast for dinner, without the eggs because I know how much the chickens inside them mean to you."

I slide into the chair as she begins to pile pancakes, waffles and bacon onto my plate. The toaster pings, and two slices of fresh toast pop up, which Em grabs and adds to the meal. It looks perfect, and I almost dig in straightaway before I notice she's not sitting down and eating with me. Considering it's the day before my birthday, I'd say that's rather odd behaviour.

"You going out?" I question, looking up. Em looks quite pleased with herself, so I don't think she's breaking up with me…Then again, she did put on the wig last time without much of the usual eyebrow raising.

"Yeah," she answers, grabbing her coat off the chair and putting it on, "I've got a surprise for you."

I hope it's not one of those weird surprises where a bunch of naked guys come bursting through your door, or from inside your birthday cake, because I hate finding hair in my food. Emily chuckles, as if reading my mind.

"Good surprise, don't worry. I'll be back before you know it." With a brief kiss on my cheek, she leaves the apartment and I'm left alone. I don't want to turn on the radio or the TV or go online, because I know what I'll see/hear/read. A live concert, tonight, Santana Lopez. A concert which I don't have tickets to. I could go and look up Youtube videos or watch the broadcast on TV, but what's the point. I won't be able to stand seeing thousands of the luckiest people alive, being in the vicinity of perfection, breathing the same air as her. I've never been able to go to any of her concerts, and at least for today, it'll stay that way. I mean, don't get me wrong, her music is awful. Beyond awful. Her music is as bad as she is hot. That about sums it up. She sings this bubble gum pop and R&B crap which, if sung by anyone else, I'd switch the channel so fast, it'd break the remote. But nobody's perfect. I don't know if I would be able to handle it if she sang great songs, too.

So instead of sitting around and moping about it, I drive to my dance studio. It's not huge or anything, and I co-own it with my pal Mike Chang (who is dating Tina-Cohen Chang, who is not his cousin), but it's somewhat of a sanctuary. It's so easy to just turn up one of Santana's songs and pretend as though she's right there, dancing with me. Then again, if I had her to myself, dancing would be the last thing on my mind. Yes, I went there.

Then, of course, just my luck, as soon as I finish warming up, my phone rings. Normally I'd let it go to voicemail, but it's Emily's ringtone, so I pick up.

"Hey, I'm at the studio, you back already?" I didn't think she meant 'I'll be back before you know it'_ literally._

"Yeah, come home quickly, or we'll be l- erm, just come home?"

"Sure," I tell her and flip my phone shut, packing up my things.

When I get home, Emily looks smug, which is a rarity. I hope she's made tiramisu…it's my absolute favorite. Creamy and delicious and-

NO. No way. No no no nonononononono way. I can't believe my eyes. I honestly cannot believe what my eyes are seeing right now. In front of me, on the table, are two tickets to Santana's concert in 2 hour's time. My God, they look real…upon closer inspection, I come to the conclusion that…these are legit. I pick one up carefully off the table. No ripping it, the material feels like it was made to be held in my hands. I open and close my mouth like some sort of non-animated goldfish, but no words come out. I'm left staring spechlessly from Emily and the ticket on the table to the ticket in my own hand.

I'm about to jump on top of her in joy, but then she whips out something even better. The golden tickets. Now I know how Charlie must've felt. Except Charlie didn't spend 4 years fantasizi- imagining this moment. Backstage passes. Actually, just one backstage pass.

"For you." She holds it out for me to take, as if she were an angel handing me a pass to heaven. "A friend of mine was involved in producing, and I knew how much you liked her, so…"

Like her? LIKE HER? As in how human beings liked breathing air? Rabbits like carrots? Fish like fish food? Then sure, I like her.

I must've either passed out or just stood there for the next hour and a half like a mute, because next thing I know, we're here. We are at the concert. Oh my God, let me die. I have to constantly repeat to myself, "She's only human, calm thyself Brittany S. Pierce. Calm, breathe."

Who am I kidding, maybe our eyes will meet when she sings, then she'll smile, and then we'll fall madly in love and live happily ever after. I'm so underdressed for this turning point, but it's too late to go back and change now, I might, God forbid, miss the opening song. The big entrance! Maybe we'll have a whirlwind romance and jet off to wherever and get eloped. Then we'll proceed to live in a big mansion, and have sex every night in every single room. I don't mind either scenarios.

As I take my seat (in the front row!) I can't help but turn around and look at all the jealous faces sitting behind me. I remember a concert she did a year ago in New York where she literally lead some girl onstage and sang to her. If I were that girl, I'd have had a heart attack.

I'm so giddy that soon enough, I start to hear the intro of a song. It's called "you, me, and Charlie" or something, and it's offensive to musicians everywhere. But Santana…Santana is just…I cannot even…no words. Words are just simply not worthy of this girl. There is nothing in the dictionary to describe Santana Lopez.

It's seriously the fastest, fastest 2 hours of my life. I think I've lost my voice. Everytime she speaks, I think I die a little.

"Alright guys, as we all know, Valentine's Day is coming up."

The shouts of 'Be my Valentineeeeeee' is deafening, and I almost laugh at these crazy fans, because she's my Valentine, she doesn't know it yet, but she's my Valentine. Yeah, i may have screamed a little as well, only to not seem out of place. Hey, I'm a dancer, not a singer, so no point in keeping my voice anyway.

Santana laughs into the mic, and it's seriously the most wonderful sound ever to grace my ears. "So this one goes out to all the lovers."

More screams and shouts, before the tune of 'Kiss Me' blasts out from the speakers. Santana's eyes sweeps the corwd as she sings, and I just know this is it. Yes, this is the start of the rest of our lives.

"_Oh kiss me out of the bearded barley,  
>Nightly , beside the green, green grass<br>Swing, swing, swing the spinning step  
>You'll wear those shoes and I will wear that dress.."<em>

Oh my GOD she's getting off the stage now, singing at some random people, smiling at them, too.

_Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight  
>Lead me out on the moonlit floor<br>Lift you open hand  
>Strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance<br>Silvermoon's sparkling,  
>So kiss me<br>_

_Kiss me down by the broken tree house__  
>Swing me , upon its hanging tire<br>Bring, bring , bring your flowered hat  
>We'll take the trail marked on your father's map<em>

People are yelling and screaming 'I love you' like crazy.

_Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight_  
><em>Lead me out on the moonlit floor<em>  
><em>Lift you open hand<em>  
><em>Strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance<em>  
><em>Silvermoon's sparkling,<em>  
><em>So kiss me<em>

Her eyes find mine, finally, and she's coming over, her grin gets bigger now. It's a sight more beautiful than anything on this or any other planet.

_Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight_  
><em>Lead me out on the moonlit floor<em>  
><em>Lift you open hand<em>  
><em>Strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance<em>  
><em>Silvermoon's sparkling,<em>  
><em>So kiss me<em>

_She's singing right at me. I can't. I don't even. It's getting hard to even think in proper grammar at this point._

_So kiss me_  
><em>So kiss me<em>

She lowers her mic, leans forward and touches her lips to mine quickly before retreating back on stage in one swift motion (might as well because what happens next probably isn't my most attractive moment)

And I die.


	2. Chapter 2

So, hello from heaven. Yes, that's where I am now. I am floating above the clouds because guess what? Oh wait, I'll tell you anyway. Santana Lopez, Pop and R&B sensation, and my soulmate, just kissed me. Live. During a better-than-the-origina- well, I wouldn't go _that_ far, but the important thing is that she _kissed_ me. Properly on the lips. In front of thousands of screaming (and now jealous) fangirls and boys.

I turn to Emily, and she has a smile on her face. Don't worry, we agreed that if either one of us snags a certain celebrity, it wouldn't be cheating. Hers was Emma Stone, for some reason. Although why anyone would pick Emma Stone over Santana Lopez to sleep with is beyond me.

"Happy?" She asks. My girlfriend Emily, not Emma Stone.

I nod excitedly. Hell yes I'm happy. Let's not forget our little backstage pass either. Oh yes, this is turning out to be the best birthday Eve ever.

The next 10 minutes is a total blur, Em thrusting the pass into my hands and waving goodbye. Me being ushered backstage to pick up where we left off. It takes a few twists and turns before I'm inside a room with a couple of comfy looking couches, a snack table and a plasma screen hung on the wall. I can't even stand still, knowing that within moment, Santana will come through the door I just walked through, and we'll meet. Then, she'll ask for my number, later, we'll go on dates. Of course after a year at the most, we get married and have genetically flawless children. Honestly, it's a foolproof plan. I've been constructing it for 4 years now.

I hear the door opening and there she is. The angel sent straight from heaven herself. She gives me this wonderfully gorgeous grin and yep, totally a once-over.

"Hi again."

She recognizes me. Granted, it's been about 15 minutes, but during that short span of time, I'm sure she's seen a million different faces. I barely manage to find words, "Hi." She looks insanely, insanely hot. No lie, I could rip off all her clothes right now.

"You're over 18, right?"

I nod, she's 19, same age as me. Well, same age as I will be, come this time tomorrow.

"Awesome." She turns around, and even her back is hotter in person. She says something to her bodyguard and points briefly to me. He just curtly nods and promptly leaves the room, closing the door gently behind him. I notice it's not locked. Damn.

Then she turns back to me, that smile gracing her flawless features again. She motions for me to sit on the black leather couch in the center of the room, which looks like the most comfortable one anyway.

Santana sits next to me, elbow propped up on the back of the couch, smile never leaving her face. She grabs my right hand with her left and tangles our fingers together. Oh yeah, did I mention how she's left handed and I'm right handed? It's like we can't be more perfect for each other if we tried.

"I'm Santana."

"I'm Brittany. Brittany Pierce," I tell her, still mesmerized by her features. From her thick locks of dark hair to her dark, mysterious brown eyes to her lips, and- well, you get the point.

"Do you like poems, Brittany?"

I do now. Poems are the best. I say this, and she laughs. It is the best sound ever. Undoubtedly. By a mile. Or ten.

"Ebrio de trementina y largos besos," Oh. Dear. God. It's Spanish. My eyes almost pop out of my head. Santana's fluent in both English and Spanish, everyone knows this, but she pretty much never speaks a word of it in any interviews. Now I know why. People would all fall in love with her. She's reciting poems in Spanish to me. It sounds like a _dream_, "estival, el velero de las rosas dirijo, torcido hacia la muerte del delgado día, cimentado en el sólido frenesí marino."

It's like with each word, she's moving closer and closer to me, her voice getting softer and softer. I can feel her hot breath against my ear, and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning. My eyes are closing involuntarily and my left hand is digging into the leather couch, almost painfully, I feel like I might rip it with the force of my fingers.

She continues, and I'm about a second away from tearing off her clothes, "pálido y amarrado a mi agua devorante, cruzo en el agrio olor del clima descubierto, aún vestido de gris y sonidos amargos, y una cimera triste de abandonada espuma."

I moan for real this time, and Santana seems pleased. She starts nibbling on my ear now, and my mind is racing a thousand miles a minute. "It's one of my favorites,_Ebrio de Trementina_," she whispers into my ear.

And just as I turn my head to kiss her again, there's a knock on the door. I don't know whether to be angry or relieved. Just as well. I need to regain my normal heart rate and my breathing to slow down.

Santana gets up off the couch to go see her bodyguard, and I miss her warmth instantly, I miss her breath on my ear, I miss her fingers intertwined with mine, I miss the scent of her shampoo. She's very quick though, and when she returns, Santana's holding a document of sorts, along with an expensive looking pen.

"Hey, sign this for me?" She hands me the document and holds out the pen for me to take while mouthing something I can't decipher to a member of her entourage.

I frown and look down at the piece of paper before me. It looks all very complicated and official, like a contract. But then Santana lifts my chin up with her fingers so that I'm looking directly into her eyes.

"Sign this, and I'm all yours for the night."

Any apprehension in my head evaporates with that. Honestly, I would gladly sell my soul for a night with this girl. Whatever this is, it's worth it. I quickly sign my name on the dotted line, and after what seemed like forever, I'm alone again with Santana.

I don't waste any time, and the second our lips touch, I whimper. Her kiss tastes like midnight, dark, deep and so seductive, I become lost within it. Her tongue learning every secret of my mouth, probing deeper and deeper with each stroke, urging mine to do the same.

It's captivating, tempestuous. Given and taken in silence, with only the hard rasp of our breathing disturbing the air around us as she kisses me with such heated intensity only surpassed, maybe, by my own.

My hands roam all over her body, feeling, remembering as much of it as this stolen moment would allow me.

I keep kissing her, even as I feel I might pass out, because I never, ever, ever want to stop. My body strains to get closer, the atmosphere around us almost cackling with energy that I don't want to fight.

She breaks the kiss first, and I'm about to complain when her lips move down to my neck and whatever words I had die a quick death in my throat. She's sucking delicately at the soft skin there as I fight to get oxygen into my lungs. My hands grip at her shirt, but my coordination is not at its best right now, and it's practically impossible for me to get it off of her, being so extraordinarily distracted.

Luckily, she does it for me while I pull her up for another mind shattering kiss. I'm rapidly losing my head in all things Santana. The building sensations sweeping through me, buzzing through my mind, my senses all pining after her and her alone. Her bra quickly ends up on the floor, as does mine after my shirt magically disappears.

Breaking the kiss _again,_ she slowly moves her tongue in circles down my neck. She moves downward and kneels on the floor even. When I feel her lips around my left breast, I nearly come undone. My hand instinctively move to her hair, grasping it between my fingers as she clamps her teeth around my nipple. A deep moan escapes my throat as her tongue lave all around my breasts. Tingles rumble throughout my body from the sensation that's engulfing my senses.

I don't want to pull her up again, so I get on my knees on the floor with her, so we're at the same level again. My hands move down her body, to her shoulder blades, to her toned stomach, to-

I instantly jump back.

There's no way...

No.

Is that a...

It takes a couple of moments to catch my breath again, but when I do, I see Santana very clearly.

Oh my God. That is definitely not a vagina in her pants.

I just stand there wordlessly, looking Santana up and down. Then up. Then down again. Because I did not see that one coming.

How is this even possible? I feel like I'm in some kind of sick, twisted fantasy of some horny teenager on the internet.

Santana sighs, picking up her discarded garments from the floor, "Yeah, that was my first reaction, too."

My skin is still tingling, and even though my head is turned off, my body seems to say otherwise. My lips kinda want on hers again. My hands miss the warm skin of hers beneath them. Somehow, some way she'd gotten me addicted to her touch, her kiss.

"Leave if you want, but that contract you signed will send you to jail if you tell a single soul about this."

I wasn't intending to anyway. Who'd even believe me?

I don't know what's possessing me to do this, but I don't leave. I do the opposite and take a step closer. Then another, and another. Til I'm standing right in front of where Santana's sitting.

She looks up at me with curiosity in her eyes.

"What are you doing?" She questions, breathless.

"Honestly, I don't know." That's the last thing I say before I close the gap between us again.

Because what would you do. What would you do if the most flawless girl in the entire universe has...well, _that_. I've spent countless nights just dreaming and fantasizing about Santana. My brain stops working when she talks to me. My heart stops when she kisses me. I'm spellbound when she touches me, _anywhere_.

I am as good as dead and gone. Delirious. Infatuated. Insanely so that every single cell in my body is yearning after her touch. It sounds insanely nuts, I know. But God, there's just no other way to describe it.

So I kiss her. After the initial shock, when she finally kisses me back, it's the most wonderful feeling in the world. The room is silent but for our breathless whimpers.

When she breaks the kiss, I freeze, my hands instinctively grabs her tighter. I don't want to stop kissing her. Not now, not ever.

"Forget air, I'll breathe you instead." Is the only thing she whispers between our lips, and I don't think I can grin any wider or feel any happier than I do now, before she leans back in and kisses me again. I stand corrected.


	3. Chapter 3

What would you do. What would you **do** if the most flawless girl in the entire universe has...well, _that_. If the most beautiful girl on this or any other planet is at your mercy, an arm's length away. What if only now do you get why she's never dated anyone, of course there's been the odd rumor from fans, speculations from tabloids and flirty tweets on the internet to some random celebrity. But there's never been a confirmed relationship. Now I get it. My brain automatically tells me that it's not normal. And yet I couldn't care less. I've spent countless nights just dreaming and fantasizing about Santana. My brain stops working when she talks to me. My heart stops when she kisses me. I'm spellbound when she touches me, _anywhere_.

I want her. It is borderline insane how much I want her. So I let my feet carry me towards the couch, where Santana's looking like a deer caught in the headlights. It's funny how I thought I've seen her every expression, know every little quirks she has, both consciously and subconsciously, but this is the first I've seen of a genuine surprised look, unscripted, unrehearsed, real. It's breathtaking. So I lean forward, and do the only thing there is to do. Kiss her.

And I melt.

I am as good as dead and gone. Delirious. Infatuated. Enraptured to the point that every single cell in my body is yearning after her touch. It sounds insanely nuts, I know. But God, there's just no other way to describe it.

After the initial shock, when she finally kisses me back, it's the most wonderful feeling in the world. The room is silent but for our breathless whimpers. I feel her smile into the kiss and the ecstasy from mere moments ago seem like a faraway, distant memory compared to this.

When she pulls back, I freeze, my hands instinctively grabs her tighter. I don't want to stop kissing her. Not now, not ever.

"Forget air, I'll breathe you instead." Is the only thing she whispers between our lips, and I don't think I can grin any wider or feel any happier than I do now, before she leans back in and kisses me again. I stand corrected.

The things that happen next are all a huge blur of un-type-out-able happenings.

* * *

><p>I know what you're thinking, what you're wondering. The questions you all desperately want the answers to but are afraid to ask.<p>

Do I wake up alone? Clinging onto the memories of what happened in this very room last night? With nothing more than the scent of her perfume to take with me back to reality?

Yes and no.

For one thing she's definitely here. In the flesh, fully clothed (much to my dismay though I don't voice this out loud, as she doesn't seem to be aware that I'm conscious) but then I also notice the look on her face. Now I'm not a mind reader or anything, nor do I consider myself an outstanding judge of characters, but her hurry to gather my clothes and the amount of swear words coming out of her mouth would suggest that she's anxious to see me out of here. Not exactly the best way you wanna wake up after sleeping with someone.

"Good morning," I say groggily, rubbing my eyes. She looks up and tosses my clothes right at me. Ouch (both literally and figuratively). Guess whatever spell I had her under last night has worn off. Too soon. Too soon!

"Yeah, sorry, you need to leave." Would it be weird if I said she's cute when she's like this? "I'm sorry?"

Oops, shouldn't have said that out loud. "Nothing," I clear my throat quickly.

"Listen Brittany, I've got a press conference in 20 minutes. Derek here will show you out, ok?"

Right on cue, the tall muscly guy from last night comes into the room. Certified mood killer, that guy. Then a realization hits me like a brick wall. What if that really was his job? To "handle" Santana's...well...deal with girls like me after she's done. No, I shrug it off, because that's ridiculous. So ridiculous it turns out to be the truth? No, just plain that-could-not-be-further-away-from-the-truth ridiculous. Surely.

I nod dumbly and as quickly as she came into my life, Santana leaves, leaving nothing behind but a lingering scent and vivid, vivid memories (at least, I think they're memories and not delusions my hazy mind came up with to cover up the horrible reality of last ni- nope, they're memories). Well, that and a tall, stocky black guy with an unwavering stare even though I do need to get up and get dressed, preferably without him watching me. I am a woman with dignity, even after sleeping with an international RnB star and signing a contract to keep her penis hidden from the rest of the world and then being literally left behind in her bed. BUT DIGNIFIED WOMAN I AM. Finally, Derek seems to get the hint (either that or he's a legit mind reader) and turns around, giving me some privacy. I quickly gather last night's clothing and put them back on. They still distinctly smell like Santana (God help me, I'm never washing these).

"M'am," he speaks up all of a sudden, "It looks like you won't be able to leave out the front door. I've been notified that Miss Lopez is currently tending to some guests and would prefer they have no knowledge of you."

Very bluntly said, Derek, I reply in my head. What is this guy, former CIA, FBI, James Bond agent? Who talks like that.

"Sure, I understand. So which way do I go?"

Derek clears his throat before answering in his monotone tough guy voice, "The window, m'am."

Like I said, I've got nothing if not my dignity.

Luckily, I am a trained dancer so it's no problem climbing out of a window onto the road, where a sleek, black Mercedes Benz awaits me.

Derek and I say our goodbyes, and if I must say so myself, I think we've gotten rather acquainted in the couple of times we've seen each other. He's seen me sort of naked, all over his boss, lying down on a bed, naked under the sheets after having spent the night with his boss, and finally, me climbing out of the window of said room. And I've seen him take off his sunglasses.

I climb into the car and tell the driver (who, as expected, is in full chauffeur uniform, complete with the hat) my address.

All in all, I'd say that went pretty well. Y'know, considering the thing which apparently I'm no longer allowed to talk about.

* * *

><p>When I get home, Emily seems to have left for work. Ah yes, work. Good thing I took the liberty of owning my own studio and therefore am my own boss, I have rather flexible hours. So I don't have to be in til after I take a hot bath and just take a deep breath to process the last 24 hours. Also the fact that I'm turning 19 today. Seems so trivial after everything.<p>

It's amazing, isn't it. How insanely quickly your life can change. This time yesterday, I hadn't known about Santana's...condition, I hadn't kissed her, I hadn't even seen her live in concert. My God, that was my first ever Santana Lopez concert. If that's what happened at the first concert...It was really worth the admission price. I smile to myself. I'd had sex with Santana Lopez. Hah! How many people in this or any other universe could say that? Not many, I can tell you that. Well done, Brittany. Just, well done.

I relax for a little while longer then get out and dry myself off, get dressed. Real life is waiting. And so is my phone. Probably Mike calling. I reach for it and it is indeed Mike Chang. How annoying.

"Yes, Mike, I'll probably be in a little later ok? Not feeling very well at the moment." I sigh into the phone, faking a cough for good measure. Lord Tubbington (bless him, do rest in peace) once told me that Asians are really good at knowing when you're lying so you have to be extra sneaky to get away with it. He said it in code.

"Alright, Brittany. Just calling to make sure you haven't died or anything. I saw the concert on tv last night. Is Emily super jealous?"

I think he's attempting to make a joke referencing to the kiss last night. If only he knew...

"Yeah," I laugh along with him. "Super jealous. Alright, gotta go lie down, b-"

Someone once told me that if you don't want to talk to somebody on the phone, just hang up mid-sentence, they'll never suspect a thing. One of the most valuable pieces of advice I've ever gotten. Thank you yomamasofat91x, wherever you are. Although I suspect that's not your real name, so I hope you're not a sex predator.

Just as I'm about to go and make myself some breakfast. I hear my doorbell ring. Normally I wouldn't answer because it could be the landlord asking about the marijuana I'm currently growing in the backyard (it's medicinal for Lord Tubbington Jr, but the vet couldn't prescribe it for him) but today, I let my curiosity get the better of me and actually go open the door.

"Santana?"

It's clearly Santana under that wig and sunglasses and cap.

"I'm firing my makeup team," she announces to no one and strolls into my house.

"How did you know where I lived?" I question aloud.

"I'm Santana Lopez," she says like it's the most obvious answer, while wandering around the living room, examining objects the putting them back to the original place. Occasionally, she'd chuckle or smile at things, like she can't quite grasp the concept of people actually using these ancient and ordinary items to get things done when you could easily zap up the end result for only twice or thrice the cost of making it.

I don't know whether to chase her out (how would I?) or just treat her like I would a guest, so I settle for somewhere in the middle and just stand there with my mouth slightly agape like a fish, hands not knowing where to go.

After a few more minutes of this, Santana decides she's bored with inspecting my house and turns back to me. "Right then, let's go."

"Um, why?"

She lowers her glass, like she can't believe I'm asking such an obvious question. "Because I'm Santana Lopez."


End file.
